


Kisses and Clover

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [288]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 10:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18150851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: Ian starts a new St. Patrick's Day tradition.





	Kisses and Clover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen/gifts), [OddlyExquisite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddlyExquisite/gifts), [davaia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/davaia/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta Helen   
> Laura McEwan for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3   
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> Our lads celebrate St. Patrick's Day:  
> [1) St. Patrick's Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793587)  
> [2) Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843609) \-- starring the little shamrock  
> [3) Green](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1397446)  
> [4) Sir Obi-Gawain and the Green Knight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6276046)  
> [5) A Mellow St. Patrick's Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10150133)  
> [6) Poetry in Motion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947861)
> 
> The little shamrock and clover:  
> [St. Patrick's Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793587) \- the first mention of the little shamrock  
> [Anniversary Surprise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4948819) \-- the first mention of the little four-leaf clover

A simple sprig of clover. A bit of ingenuity from Ian. A happy holiday for two.

Leave it to Ian to make St. Patrick's Day even more exciting than usual this year for his very own Irishman. He quietly came up with a tradition in the making when he thought back to all of the wonderful kisses they had shared under the mistletoe during the Christmas season. There was no reason he could think of that they should stop until almost a year later just because Twelfth Night had rolled around.

What about starting a similar tradition in honor of a different occasion? Why not, indeed? The thought was simply delicious.

As soon as Quinn fell asleep on the night before the holiday, Ian got out of bed with a big grin. He walked to the kitchen on moccasined feet to put a sprig of clover from their garden on top of the doorframe, using a low step stool he took all but noiselessly from the utility closet. Chuckling to himself, he could hardly wait until the next morning to see his husband's reaction. Somehow, he managed to go to sleep after a half hour of imagining Quinn's first annual clover kiss, despite his overwhelming anticipation.

When Quinn woke up on St. Patrick's Day, Ian was already up for the day. He took advantage of the extra space in their king-sized bed and stretched out his arms and legs to maximum extension. It was slightly cold in the bedroom, and he had slept without a pajama top. So Quinn snuggled into the jade-green sheets a little longer, in no hurry at all on this carefree Sunday. The sun was shining into the room through a gap in the curtains, and Ian had opened the windows to let in the breeze.

It was the first day of Irish spring, and Quinn could feel it in his bones, settling into place alongside his deep love for Ian. He got out of bed to open the fluttering curtains completely and was greeted by the scents of his beloved flowers – marigolds, cornflowers, and primroses – from the backyard garden. He breathed in deeply, savoring the fragrance of the season. According to the thermometer outside the window, the temperature was a brisk 52 degrees Fahrenheit.

Clad only in his pajama shorts, he began the sprightly steps of the Blossom and Branch kata, relishing the way it invigorated him from the inside out. It only took him a little bit more than ten minutes to complete the kata this morning, his vitality shining brightly in each and every move. He felt warm through and through by the time he was halfway done.. The only thing that could improve his mood was to have Ian across from him mirroring his poses. He made a note to himself to ask his lad to join him in the forms later on today, which would make his enjoyment of them complete.

In anticipation of the climax of the kata, a sunbeam shone warmly on his face while he wound down into the concluding pose. He turned his face up to the sunshine as if he were one of the cornflowers blooming in his garden, which was fitting because those cornflowers happened to match the vivid blue of his eyes.

When he looked out the window, he saw a deer trotting into the wooded shade of the far corner of their backyard as it headed towards the bike path running alongside the river. A couple of squirrels bounded up trees, and Quinn's keen eye saw a tiny woodchuck playing in the grass by his gooseberry bushes. The cries of a few bluejays drew his attention to the cloudless, endless sky. He gazed at the idyllic scene with the breeze dancing over his cheeks until his stomach rumbled, and he knew he'd best get ready for breakfast.

Quinn used the facilities, then drank a cup of water. He brushed his teeth with his favorite peppermint toothpaste and shaved thoroughly, thinking ahead to Ian's nuzzles. Next, he took a shower and washed his hair, even more invigorated now by the water running over him in a cool, pulsing cascade, thanks to the massage setting on the rainfall showerhead. He used the hand-held spray to reach his underarms, calves, and feet.

Drying with Ian's towel for an added sensual thrill, he put on his heather-grey boxer briefs, along with green and blue plaid socks, then dressed in a forest-green pullover and cream slacks. He couldn't resist a smile as he fastened the little four-leaf-clover charm Ian had given him for their 10th anniversary to the lapel of his shirt.

Now he was ready for whatever his fhear-cheile (husband) had in store for them on this special day.

The puppies were snoozing together on the middle cushion of the couch, with Artoo giving out a sleepy woof every so often, and Quinn gave them an indulgent grin as he ambled past. When he walked into the kitchen to make breakfast, the wonderful aromas told him that Ian had already gotten a start on cooking. So he didn't notice the sprig of clover fluttering over the lintel on his way inside, distracted as he was by thoughts of a tall stack of pancakes with warm vanilla maple syrup drizzled over them.

Ian was standing at the counter as he prepared cappuccinos for two and gave Quinn a grin as big as his favorite Irishman the moment he saw him. He had on his Team Hawk shorts, which gave Quinn a delectable look at Ian's muscular thighs. But Quinn was even more delighted to see him wearing his polo shirt with a holiday theme – a Luke Skyhawk flying over an azure-blue sky, with a shamrock clutched in its talons. Sure enough, the little shamrock was shining on his collar as it beamed in approval at the artwork in its honor.

"Hey, handsome," said Ian, "Happy St. Patrick's Day!" He hugged his herven to him, burrowing into Quinn's nubby sweater with a sigh of contentment. Not at all put out when Quinn breezed by the sprig of clover without seeing it, Ian was still looking forward to a proper holiday kiss from his gradh. He did have to suppress his laughter when 6'4" Quinn managed to be that oblivious, especially when he was so much closer to the lintel than Ian would ever get unless he was doing his chin-ups.

"Good mornin', laddie," Quinn said, nuzzling his husband's soft coppery spikes, still uncombed for the day, or so he thought. You never knew with Ian's hair since it resisted all efforts to tame it, just like his lad himself. "Lá fheile Pádraig sona duit!" (Happy St. Patrick's Day to you!)

Quinn set the table and poured orange juice for two, while Ian flipped flapjacks on the griddle. Then he helped his lad take their mugs of cappuccino and plates of pancakes, along with a side of bubble and squeak (cabbage and potatoes), to their places. They dug into the hearty fare and didn't talk for a bit so they could savor each bite.

There was a sparkle in Ian's eye since his anticipation of their first-ever clover kiss kept on building. Quinn noticed it, of course, and answered with a blue gleam of his own.

Looking at his Aldera watch, Quinn said, "We have plenty of time to eat before we've got to get ready to pick up the folks." The whole family was going to Luke Chapel for a holiday service at 11 a.m. The professors were driving Quinn's parents – with Kathy and Monty taking Ian's – to the chapel on campus. Father Lucasse, the chaplain who had married Ian and Quinn there in 2011, would be presiding today.

Ian dabbed a small piece of pancake into warm maple syrup, the vanilla bursting onto his taste buds as he chewed. He waited until he finished his bite to answer Quinn. "I'm glad we don't have to rush today," he said, thinking ahead to the generous amount of time he hoped would be devoted to their clover kiss. "I've already made reservations for Farrell's afterwards, at one o'clock." This was their favorite local pub, which they visited at least once a month with Case, Ethan, and Evan.

Only Quinn would think ahead to his next meal while still scooping up bubble and squeak with his spoon. He had already decided on his lunch since he knew the Farrell's menu by heart – meat pasties for starters, followed by bangers and mash with buttered turnips, all of it washed down with a pint of Guinness Stout. Then a fine piece of Bailey's Irish Cream cake for dessert, with sips of Connemara single-malt whiskey to add the finishing touch. A quintessential holiday treat. But, of course, he was open to any ideas that their special holiday menu might give him.

After almost fourteen years of wedded bliss, you'd think he'd behave like an old married man by now. But the thought of Ian eating his banger with a saucy wink still stirred the same erotic thrill that it had when they'd just met. He would never forget the first meal they ever shared – hot dogs topped with relish and Grey Poupon mustard, with orange juice just like he was drinking now – on the Acela during their magical train ride to the symposium on Tolkien's wizards at Mace University, 16 years ago this coming May. The sweetest sixteen of his life, so far.

Quinn gazed at his laddie, entranced. Ian's eyes shone emerald green today, as if in honor of the holiday.

"A nickel for your thoughts," Ian teased when he saw the abstracted look in his guid-man's (husband/master) eyes.

Quinn raised an eloquent eyebrow. "What happened to the penny?"

Ian grinned in delight. "You've got to factor in inflation, Professor," he said with a wink.

Groaning to show Ian his appreciation of the quip, Quinn said, "I was just thinking of our meals, both past and future." He licked his lips in anticipation. "And speaking of which, I owe you some thanks. Trust my laddie to think ahead. We'd have had to wait for at least an hour at Farrell's if you hadn't called ahead."

"Nice of you to say, but you're the one who picked up the groceries yesterday evening for our party later on. You don't give yourself enough credit," Ian said. After they were finished eating at the pub this afternoon, they'd invited the whole clan to their home for a proper shindig, and also included their friends and neighbors. Their little house would be full to the rafters with Irish spirit, enhanced by the music of Quinn's guitar and Ian's piano.

Quinn's crinkles came out to play for the holiday. "Well, then, please allow me to take credit for the following suggestion – if we finish eating soon, let's take a walk on the bike path. It's in the low 50s now." He sipped his cappuccino. "Who wants to stay inside? 'Tis a glorious spring day, and we'd best take advantage of it."

"Sounds like a plan," Ian said. "I'm just about done anyway." He took the last sip of juice and chased a shred of cabbage around his dish.

Quinn checked his plate for any errant crumbs which had escaped him, then got up with a satisfied sigh. "'Twas a delicious breakfast. Thank you, m'lad."

"You're welcome, ma gradh," Ian said as he helped his husband to take the plates to the sink, carrying the silverware inside their mugs and juice cups.

They did the dishes, with Quinn washing and Ian drying as usual. But Ian was practically vibrating in place by now.

On their way out of the kitchen, Ian made sure to be the first to reach the doorway. He stood there, waiting for his husband to take notice. Quinn gave him a quizzical glance, then finally looked above his lad's head.

There was a sprig of clover shining in the morning light. Just as Ian could see the understanding shining in Quinn's eyes.

Quinn took Ian in his arms and gave him a St. Patrick's Day kiss that was worth the wait. Flavored with cappuccino and love, it could not have been more delicious. Fresh as new love; ancient as enduring love – unifying them in its wondrous Force. They sighed into the kiss, letting their tongues delve deeply as they really got into it.

"Is this what you've been waiting for, darlin'?" Quinn teased, nuzzling Ian's cheek.

"Oh, yeah!" Ian said, musing that this was exactly what he had wanted from the moment he'd thought of his clever clover idea for the holiday.

And a new St. Patrick's Day tradition for two was officially born.


End file.
